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Before: I Really, Really Thank You


Ashley

Nick acted funny the rest of the night.

When we got back to the hotel, he went straight to bed without even turning on the TV. I laid down on my own bed, wishing he'd come back over and hold me again. I hugged my pillow and texted Chris.

Hey, I typed.

Hey baby :)

Miss u

Miss u more, he answered.

At the moment, I doubted that. I hated feeling alone, particuluarly when I was about to go to sleep. I didn't need a psycology degree to know that Chris was right and it was very much tied into abandonment issues. I wondered if all orphans have that problem, or if it was just me. I glanced over my shoulder at Nick. He was still back-to me. I wondered if he was awake.

The phone vibed in my hand and I looked down at it.

I cant wait 2 pick u up @ LAX tmw, Chris typed.

I pictured getting off the plane and having Chris waiting for me. I smiled and was about to answer back to him when I realized two things: one, I wasn't gonna be on the plane Chris thought I was because I wasn't coming back from Florida, and, two, Nick was going to be there.

There was no way in hell Chris could pick me up at the airport.

Dont pick me up ill take a cab, I texted.

But I miss u, Chris replied.

But its silly for u to drive all the way out to LAX when I can just take a cab. we will go out after 4 dinner, I suggested.

k.

It was the last thing he typed to me all night, even though I texted him a couple more times after that. I wondered briefly if he was angry with me. But I was too exhausted to think about the ramifications of that anger too long. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, letting out a low, deep sigh.

I heard Nick's mattress creak.

"You okay?" he asked into the dark.

I glanced over at him. He was in a position like he'd been doing push ups... a position like... like the night we shared together in Vegas and I suddenly had a flash of the memory of laying beneath him, of feeling him inside me, of heavy breathing and blood rushing through my veins, of believing that I could handle being friends with benefits.

I looked away.

"Ashley?" he asked.

"I'm fine," I replied.

He moved, rolling onto his back, too, so we laid there in two separate beds in the same position, both staring up at the ceiling, arms tucked under our heads.

"You really haven't told Chris you love him?" Nick asked after a few minutes of silence had passed.

"No," I replied.

"Why?"

I thought about it. Why hadn't I told Chris that I loved him? I did. He was the sweetest man all the time. Like Nick has this thing where he can be really sweet sometimes and a total asshole other times, but Chris is just really sweet all the damn time. He buys me flowers and he remembers little anniversaries. Like every month on the 14th he comes home and says Happy Anniversary to me because it's been another month of us being together. It's adorable. And he folds my socks the way I like them and puts them in my drawer in chromatic order, which I like, too.

"I guess I don't know how to say it," I said finally.

"I know the feeling," Nick muttered.

"It's hard, right?" I said, shaking my head, "Why's it gotta be so hard?"

"I have no idea," he replied.

"I mean, I know he loves me back, I'm not afraid he doesn't love me back. So why the hell can't I just look him in the eye and say Christopher, I love you? I want to. I really do want to." I looked over at Nick. He was biting his fingernails. "Do you want to say it to your Mystery Lady?" I asked.

"More than anything," Nick replied.

I sighed. "Too bad we couldn't both just say it, huh? Maybe all our problems would be solved if we both just said it. What do you think?"

Nick was quiet a moment. "I don't think all the problems would be solved if we both said it."

Silence fell over us again, and I studied the bumps on the ceiling. I could feel myself falling asleep. Then through the dark came Nick's voice again. "Ashley?"

"Mmm?" I hummed.

"I.... thank... you."

"What?"

"Thank you."

I was too sleepy to find this too weird. "For what?" I mumbled.

"I dunno... for... whatever, just...really, really thank you."

"You're welcome, Nick. For whatever it is you're thanking me for," I said. And I drifted off to sleep.




Nick

Thank you? Seriously? The fuck, Carter?

I heard her breathing steady out and I knew she was asleep so I rolled over onto my side and curled up, frustrated with myself. Thank you. What the hell kind of idiot move was that?

The next morning, I got up before Ashley did and I went in and got dressed and put all the complimentry soaps into my backpack. I don't know why. It's just something I've always done. It comes from the days when Backstreet was just starting and we spent a lot of nights on layovers and sleeping on floors at various venues. I've had more than my fair share of washing my hair in sink basins in public bathrooms as a result and these little complimentary shampoos always come in handy for those type situations.

Thinking of the early days as I brushed my teeth, I stared at my scar and wondered how everything was going to shake out with the band. I pictured letting it slip out of my grasp, but I couldn't imagine quitting the Backstreet Boys. It'd been such a huge part of my life for so long, but at the same time I was scared shitless by what the media and the fans would think of my damn face.

The scar was fading, everyday getting less and less severe, but it was still there. It was a darker shade of pink than the rest of my skin, slowly turning an almost iradescent silver-pink color along the edges of it. I hated the way it made my mouth droop.

I thought about the fans. The few that I'd met since the crash had been cool about it, but God only knows what they'd said online in the social media and the forums an stuff where they all populate. I pictured them making a Twitter account called like Nick's Disfigurement Support Group or some shit. Team Nick's Scar. Something like that.

I spit my used toothpaste into the sink basin.

I pictured Howie, Kevin, Brian and AJ reacting to me quitting the band. I wondered if they'd keep performing without me like we'd all done when Kevin had left the band. I wondered if that would work. Probably not, I thought. But at the same time that assumption felt kind of conceited of me to make.

"Nick?" Ashley's voice carried through the bathroom door.

I opened the door, tooth brush still in my hand. Ashley was dressed already. She must've changed in the main part of the room. "You almost ready?" she asked.

"Yeah," I replied.

We traded places, she took the bathroom and I finished getting ready in the main room. I was taking my time. I wasn't really looking forward to the flight home. Although it wasn't quite as ominous as the flight out had been, I still wasn't comfortable with the idea of being on board a plane.

But Ashley was there for me again the whole time.

We got bagels at the airport and sat and watched planes land and take off while we waited to board our flight and Ashley nudged me as she chewed on her onion bagel, "See, look how many planes take off without a single problem," she said. "Way more than crash. Think about how many flights you've been on in the past, and there's only been one you've ever had problems on."

"They were pretty big problems," I pointed out.

Ashley laced her fingers through mine.

As I boarded the plane, I thought about the Backstreet Boys and the fans and my dreams and career. I imagined myself without it, and I knew I didn't want to quit it. I looked at Ashley, "I have to get used to this, don't I?" I said as we sat down.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," she said, shrugging.

We settled into our seats, "I want to be a Backstreet Boy," I said.

"Then you have to."

I gripped Ashley's hand. "Help me get through it."

"I'm here, Nick," she said.

"I know," I answered.

She smiled.

I closed my eyes and tried not to feel the plane take off or the turbulance we hit on the way home. I tried not to hear the echos in my mind or feel the residual skin memories in my cheek. I tried to pretend this was just any other day from before, when flying wasn't a big deal and my biggest concern was if my Gameboy battery would hold out.

I was still thankful when we landed at LAX, though. Still tempted to kiss the ground. But not on the verge of tears, shaking and petrified like I had been the first time.

"See you did it," Ashley said proudly as we collected our bags from the overhead bins. "There's hope yet. It stands to reason that you'll only get better at flying." She smiled.

"Yeah," I said. "Maybe."

My palms were sweaty none the less.

We were walking out to the terminal, holding hands again, when I realized I'd wasted the whole trip and still hadn't told her anything more than the lame ass thank you the night before.

"Shit."

I looked up at the sound of Ashley's curse, and I saw him: Chris was standing a couple feet in front of us, holding up a sign with her name written on it, holding a bouqet of flowers.

"Ohhhh shit, shit," she whispered. And I felt her drop my hand like a hotcake.